Tonight, as most of the world is worrying about what the future holds at the hands of the US Presidential Election, with commentators pawing over the the poll results hypothesising whether the world is about to come to an end as we know it, I thought it may be an opportune time to talk about me. That’s right, through no fault of my own, my priorities do not have a bigger picture. Sure, the national election in a country I do not live in is a tenuous link to a 32 year old multiple myeloma suffer, but bear with me. I’m really going to try to make this work. If worst comes to the worst, I can describe one of the candidates as a cancer. I’ll try to avoid such a cheap shot.
Anyway, why worry about global future when there is my life and my future to dissect? Both situations seem equally ridiculous.
News channels are running constant, inescapable coverage and have been doing so for weeks ahead of the election. As I type, my TV is a sea of red and blue. I may be on a much smaller scale, but I too, am stuck with a 24 hour analysis of my situation. Similarly, my own analysis more often than not, is far from impartial. Most tellingly, I am bored of it. I think there are many people who feel the same about this election.
Since I relapsed all those months ago, my feet have not touched the ground. Not because I spend at least 60 percent of my time in my bed, but because I do not feel like I have been able to catch up to my diagnosis or my prognosis. Actually, I do not know what my prognosis is, for that, I can only forecast. For everything else, I have been led, pulled and forced in to whatever direction my drugs want to take me and it is exhausting. I am exhausted. I am exhausted of having little to no control over what is happening. Never, have I felt more that my body is not my own.
I went straight from relapse into treatment and prior to my relapse I was trying to return to work. I was tired already. Between appointments, phone calls, financial ruin and paranoia, there was no time for me to process this particular relapse. Now I am stuck in this treatment cycle. I do not have the energy to process. How could I, when there are many days when I do not have the energy to wash, get out of bed or remember to drink? I need to breathe. I need air and lots of it.
I did not expect my relapse and my triple cocktail of treatment to be difficult. I have done it before, I thought. This time round it feels different. I do not have sufficient days to refill my Good Cylinder* to get me through my dark days because the dark days are plentiful. I previously said that I do not like Mondays, but the truth is, as the cycles go on, I don’t like Tuesdays, Wednesdays or Thursdays either. The more cycles I have (I am now coming to the end of Cycle Five), the harder it is for my body to cope. I might have two reasonably good days, providing I remain infection free, per week during my three treatment weeks, with one weak off at the end. Entering my flat on a Monday and summoning the strength to leave on a Friday, is a common occurrence.
‘Tired’ is a word that I use far too often. It covers a multitude of sins. I will talk about my tiredness to anybody who asks. I need a better abjective, because ‘tired’ does not do it justice. I seem to remember that I used to be quite interested in things, I used to regularly up date this blog, I listened to music and I also used to laugh. It is rare for me to muster up the energy to do any of these things. An outsider looking in may feel differently about that, but that is the overwhelming feeling I take from my last few months of apathy.
Perhaps I do not help myself? I do not answer my phone. I make plans to write a letter or an email and three weeks later, I have done neither. I start things, but unless it is a Killer Sudoku, I do not finish it.It’s not because I do not want to, I just cannot bring myself to think. Never underestimate the power of thinking. Not being able to do it is surprisingly stressful.
The truth is, I feel so lonely. I think what I feel is loneliness. I don’t feel lonely because I don’t have anybody around me, I feel lonely because I do not think it is possible for anybody to understand just how hard I am finding this existence. I had not choice on this. How can anybody understand the level of isolation? My friends are off doing things that people my age do, I struggle to make my dinner (if I can make my dinner). A friend suggested internet dating. The idea of internet dating as some sort of cure to my lonelinesss, just reminded me that I am living with an incurable cancer, which I have had for four years and there is an invisible clock on that, I am barren, I have no money and I can comfortably leave my flat for three hours twice a week. How would that work? Have I given up?
All of this is what I have had time to think about over recent months. I’m no fool. I use tools to try and manage these thoughts and I talk about it with loved ones and the Medically Trained People. I know what I need to do, but like I said, I am exhausted. The more tired I become, the harder it is to fight. And a fight it is (just like the Election, I hadn’t forgotten about it). I’m fighting the cancer, the medicinal side effects and my physical and mental incarceration. I am confident it is not a losing fight, but there are days when I am defeated. I never thought I would feel this way, but there have been occasions when I vocalised a wish to die that I do not have.
I never really considered dying before, but when my Good Cylinder is depleated, my quality of life has no resemblance to my pre Myeloma life, I don’t recognise it, and I feel utterly, utterly helpless through fatigue, nausea and Chemo brain. I would not be human if I did not think of an alternative option. I feel so weak and so guilty for thinking it, let alone saying it to another human being. I am alive. I know I need to celebrate that, but sometimes, I am just too fucking tired.
I can argue both sides of this argument all day long. Flip the coin and there is strength to be found every time I move on from those thoughts. I campaign (get it) for more positivity. My paraprotein is going down. I plan events on my good days. I was even able to attend my annual treat, the London Film Festival 15 times in nine days through sheer determination. I occasionally allow myself an acolohic beverage for something I call party time. I never forget that I need to be in bed by 22:00hrs.
Unfortunately, all these things do not give me what I need. I need a break. I am at a point where I just need to step away, so I can come back strong enough to cope with my treatment. I know that sounds like I swallowed a new age guide, but despite having a eucalyptus vaposer in my bedroom, I have not. I just need to take a break from the status quo. I’m sick of my status quo. I feel trapped. I, like so many people with this election are disaffected.
Like this election, my life is unfathomable. I sometimes imagine I am an outsider looking in or I am in a bad Hollywood movie. People will wake up tomorrow and they will have to adapt. I am trying to do just that, unfortunately, it is much easier said than done. As I am learning, a the pace of a snail carrying a tortoise, you can’t always get what you want.
Well, I do. I go on my first holiday in two years on Sunday providing nothing bad happens. It’s not a cure, it’s not incorrectly counted ballots, but it’s something. It’s a break and a brief taste of freedom. Maybe that is why I am awake….
* The Good Cylinder has an opposite called The Bad Cylinder. They are constantly vying for my attention. You may have guessed that The Bad Cylinder has been winning.